"Not laudanum!" Back it went to Dunn.
"It doesn't smell like laudanum."
"It isn't laudanum," said Goldsmith.
"Not a trace of it," said Casey.
NOT laudanum! I looked at Hughes. He looked at me. Then he staggered towards that fatal bottle.
"Let me--let me smell it."
They let him. An extraordinary change came over his countenance as he applied it to his nose. He staggered against the wall.
"Good--good heavens!"
What was it? Had he mistaken the poison? Was it strychnine, arsenic, prussic acid? Would the treatment have to be gone through all over again? For me, death rather than that.
"I see it all," cried Hughes, "I see the mistake I made. After all, it was not the bottle I supposed. I remember now that I placed that upon the shelf above."